Foscoro: A Hamlet with "Issues"

This map of Foscoro comes from the 1876 Kewaunee County Plat Map of the Town of Ahnapee. Foscoro School, Joint District #1 of the Towns of Clay Banks and Ahnapee, is visible on the north side of Stony Creek along the Door-Kewaunee County line. The saw and gristmills are on the north side of the pier while the hotel is on Lot 2. Stony Creek is visible from the county line to Lake Michigan.

When a March 1871 Milwaukee News article was reprinted, in part, by Door County Advocate on April 13, 1871, it pointed to a Milwaukee News article found in Kewaunee Enterprise  which described the place then called Foscoro. Published before the great fire in October and others that preceded it that summer, the author said Foscoro’s founders – Messrs. Foster, Coe, and Rowe - planned a village they felt would become a mighty city. More than likely, by the time the place became that mighty city, there would have been a “push” to find out where the place really was.

Foscoro was never mighty and hardly even  big enough to be a hamlet. Small as it was, Foscoro had big city issues. “Issues” is an over-used word in the world of 2023, and if a municipality has issues, it is not a good thing. Foscoro was a hamlet with issues long before the word was in vogue.

Taking County Highway S north out of Algoma, turning east at County Highway U and following it until the sounds of waves calm the senses, peace announces one’s arrival at yesteryear’s Foscoro, now called Stony Creek. Following the Lake Michigan shoreline means there might be fog obscuring the small green highway sign and missing the sign might mean missing the once thriving pier community that, at times, didn’t know where it was either.

Located on the Kewaunee/Door County line, it took years before the hamlet knew which county it was truly in. Even its post offices went back and forth. Unusual was Foscoro School, otherwise known as Joint District No. 1 of the Towns of Ahnapee and Clay Banks. Or in Kewaunee and Door Counties.

While the place's location seemed to be a mystery, it was a growing pier community serving the timber industry. Early in 1879, Ahnepee's* Walter Youngs noted the progress of the new mill on Stony Creek in the northeastern part of the Town of Ahnepee. He told others about a creek rising in the Door County Town of Nasewaupee, flowing to Lake Michigan where the mill was at its mouth. Youngs felt a dam would keep water running at all times of the year.

A few months later -  May 1870 – the Kewaunee Enterprise mentioned Mr. George A. Rowe & Co.’s new sawmill at the mouth of Stony Creek. Timber was ready for the pier to be built as soon as practical after the mill was running. Rowe was also planning a grist mill and possibly a store. The Enterprise opined such improvements would be permanent and substantial, being a great benefit to the area. Other members of the firm were attorneys George W. Foster and Harvey L. Coe of Port Washington. Rowe was living in Ahnapee.

Competition came when Henry Geier erected his grist mill west on Stony Creek in the Town of Forestville in October 1875. Charles Fellows’ Foscoro feed mill had been the only gristmill on the lake route from Ahnapee to Sturgeon Bay.

By September 1876, Ahnapee Record described Foscoro, so at least somebody knew where it was. Readership was informed the area known as Foscoro was on Lot 2, Section 6, Town 25, Range 26 in the Town of Ahnapee, at the mouth of Stony Creek. At the time, it consisted of a new mill, bridge pier, store, 6 dwellings and 2 barns, all built 2 years earlier. Additionally, there was an 850’ pier with 11 feet of water at the end. The mill was run by waterpower with a 24’ head and, the Record opined, a small expense meant plenty of power all year. It’s Leffel wheel provided over 90 hp for two circular saws which had a capacity of 25,000 feet per day.

While the Record knew where Foscoro was, there were many who weren't sure. According to a November 1877 Record, Attorney Harvey L. Coe finished another survey of the hamlet, which most found satisfactory. However, it did not suit all. The paper claimed the survey was less expensive than others and that Coe tried to be impartial, suiting the needs of all. Coe was one of the men responsible for the heyday of Foscoro. Its name came from a combination of his name, his co-attorney George W. Foster and George A. Rowe. Coe and Foster also practiced law in Kewaunee.

Those outside the immediate area learned a little about Foscoro was in 1877 when both the Advocate and Record  reported a child-animal being born nearby. Determined to see for himself, the Record reporter said he peeled off the bark on all the trees along the Clay Banks road chasing a story he called “humbug” rather than using more unprintable words. A child was indeed born, but the child was born without an arm. What the outlandish story did was to promote an interest in peninsula geography.

How long did Foscoro last? In July 1877, the Enterprise referred to Harvey Coe as formerly of Foster, Coe, and Rowe of Foscoro. Things were changing. The name stuck for a while though by 1883 newspapers were using Stony/Stoney Creek and Foscoro interchangeably.

Just before Christmas 1877, the Advocate reported that Swaty & Son and Charles Fellows entered a partnership of dry goods and groceries and were ready to supply the whole country. The paper said the store was so crowded that the sides were bowing out. When the Record published on the following Halloween, it said Capt. Fellows improved about 4 miles of Stony Creek in compliance with Chapter 163 of the Laws of 1878, which “fixed” the creek for floating “wooden objects” from the backwoods down the creek. Fellows said the project was a great advantage to the farmers and others. Foscoro was coming into its own.

When Fellows applied for a post office in February 1878, he said the new office would serve 75-100 people. His application indicated Clay Banks' post office was 3 miles north, Forestville's was 6 miles west and Ahnapee's 6 miles south. If there were 100 folks at most to be served, the area was sparsely settled and for so people, where did all the issues come from?

Taken from the 1878 post office application

Crime in a place as small as Foscoro doesn’t sound possible, but it was. The area between the Clay Banks and Foscoro piers, near Foscoro school house, was finally going to be investigated according to the June 21, 1883, Record. “Foot pads” concealed in the bushes had stopped those on the road for years. When a gun was fired at Charles Hitt and the occupants of his wagon, the paper opined that the dark road was well-suited to the activities of foot pads which should be put where they could not molest others. The seat of Hitt’s wagon had broken as Hitt held his frightened horses while they attempted to run. Since passengers were sitting on the floor of the wagon, it is possible the highway man or men thought Mr. Hitt was alone.

Often, crimes begin in saloons. Some things never change. People enjoy having fun, and that doesn't change either. Mixing the two can result in disastrous consequences.

The Advocate seemed to know where Foscoro was in February 1875, when it mentioned that William L. Nelson had leased and taken possession of the Foscoro House. In May the Enterprise appeared to be chuckling, having reprinted an article from the Record when it spoke of a dance at the Foscoro hotel. Saying the landlord’s name was DeCanter and since the Foscoro Hotel was a public house, there was something familiar about the word decanter………

Just before Halloween 1877 the Record told readership about 14 canal laborers who were on their way to Chicago when they stopped at Hugh Ackers “ last Thursday and got pretty well set up.” A purse with money was lost and as the men arrived in Ahnapee on Friday, the loss culminated in a knock-down fight from the effects of too much “O be joyful.” One man was fined $7.50 while another rested in the lock-up overnight.

By late November 1878, folks knew where the place was when the Advocate reported the barroom shooting at Foscoro, right over the county line. A man was shot in a drunken brawl at Hugh Acker’s saloon.

The shooting got puzzling. While the Enterprise, Advocate and Record were somewhat in agreement about the sequence of events, the names of the participants and the outcomes were blurred. John Swenson was named as Swinson in the Record which lists Ben Owenson and Knud Ownes, reporting Knud Ownes as the man shot. The Advocate article cites John Swenson while reporting Knud Owenson was shot, however there is no mention Ownes.

Swenson, Ownes, and Owenson were unmarried fishermen living and working together in Clay Banks. They were on their way home from Ahnapee when they stopped at Acker’s. As one story goes, they were well fortified with liquor before they got to Acker’s.

Owenson was drunk and apparently having trouble speaking. The men had a drink or two and began playing cards. Then they began arguing about something in the past.

Ownes - who was said to be a “desperate character” when under the influence - pulled a large jack-knife from his pocket. He threatened Swenson who told him to sit down, Ownes got up and threatened again, and again Swenson told him to sit down, which he did. Then it happened again. The fourth time Ownes jumped up, he went around to Swenson, knife drawn. Standing about 3’ apart, Ownes became more threatening when Swenson drew his Smith & Wesson and fired, seeming to strike Owenson in the 7^th rib. How was that determined in such states of intoxication?

As the November 29 Enterprise told the story, Ownes and Swenson met at Acker’s saloon and engaged in excessive drinking which brought on such conduct as “usually attends the immoderate use of intoxicating beverages.” It said that when they sat down to play cards, Ownes was quite loud although Swenson controlled his actions. Continuing,  the paper said Ownes stood at the saloon door with a knife. refusing to allow Swenson to leave. Swenson could no longer hold his temper and withdrew his revolver to shoot Ownes “down.”  

The Enterprise continued informing citizens that the shooting happened on Friday and on Monday Justice Yates issued an arrest warrant for Swenson and held him under bond of $1,000 for his appearance at the Circuit Court in April.

Meanwhile, on November 29th, the Expositor Independent said Swenson and Owenson (Ownes is not mentioned) were playing cards and drinking freely when they argued about the game. That article says when Owenson drew his knife, Swenson drew his revolver from his pocket and shot the former in the abdomen. The article went on to say Swenson “procured the ball” and was taking care of the man he shot. The paper did not think the injured man could recover. 

What happened next is hard to understand. Ownes was left lying on the floor when Swenson wanted more to drink and then fell asleep. What were Owenson and Acker doing?

In the morning Ownes was still on the floor when Swenson was sufficiently sobered to realize what happened. He sent for Dr. Perlewitz from Ahnapee who originally thought Ownes was in serious condition. The Enterprise says Dr. Parsons (not Perlewitz) was called to render all possible medical aid. Some felt that Ownes lost much blood from internal bleeding that recovery was doubtful. A day or so later, Perlewitz found the bullet was three inches lower in the abdomen than first thought, however, did not remove it. He felt Ownes would be well within a few weeks. Ownes, however, was worried about his friend Swenson and felt his (Ownes) actions were responsible for the shooting.

Swenson was arrested immediately and taken to Ahnapee where he was brought to Justice Yates, charged with shooting Knud Ownes, and bound over for the next Circuit Court. Swenson pled not guilty before being charged by Yates and said he acted with justification. He gave bail of $1,000 and was to appear at the April Circuit Court term. The trial for the shooting and killing - papers do not agree on this - Knud Owens was slated for November at Kewaunee. Folks felt if Owens died, Swenson would likely be held blameless as he acted in self-defense. He had to shoot Owens or be carved up by Owens' knife.

Hugh Acker and Ben Owenson were subpoenaed as witnesses which the April 25, 1879, Enterprise listed as the trial of the State of Wisconsin vs John Swenson. On May 1, the same paper said Swenson was “acquitted of shooting Knud Owens last November.”

Months before the trial, the November 28, 1878, Enterprise reported the bills turned in to the county Committee on Miscellaneous Accounts which paid Justice J.L.V. Yates $5.31 for fees and the inquest for Knud Ownes. “Inquest” suggests Ownes died. However, Ownes was still living when the Advocate and Expositor Independent published after that date. That seems to indicate the inquest involved the shooting and no death. The Advocate of May 1, 1879, noted John Swenson’s trial for shooting and killing of Knut Owenson in November was about to start.

Some say the Ownes was the victim of Door County’s first murder, but it happened in Kewaunee County.

Foscoro never had a church and whiskey might have been the reason. Tanum Lutheran Church at Vignes is the only church in Clay Banks and would have been close enough for Foscoro residents. At one point, Seventh Day Adventists were hauling stone to build near Salona, but nothing happened. The Catholics also planned for a church and arranged a raising bee. On the scheduled workday the men went into the woods in a Norwegian area. The builders brought so much beer and whiskey that the Norwegians felt the logs were going to be floated. By the time they ran out of alcohol, the men couldn’t do much more and the church never materialized. Recorded history says that the large Norwegian population organized their church in 1872, and until the church was built, services were held in Charles Hitt’s dining room and saloon. Proximity of spirits doubtless meant the service was far too long for some.

It wasn’t liquor that caused the problem in July 1877 – it was pop that was stolen from Foscoro House. The pop was manufactured in Ahnapee by Magnus Haucke and his father-in-law Henry Baumann. Theirs was the first such manufactory on the peninsula. Ironic is that product often went north on McDonald’s Whiskey Pete. Perhaps the robbers felt saloons only carried liquor, or perhaps they felt Whiskey Pete was worthy of its namesake.

One William Flaherty was hitting the sauce during November 1877, a year before the Ownes shooting. He didn't spend his money at the Foscoro saloon though. Flaherty was on his way from Kewaunee to Stony Creek,** having freely "indulged in the cup." Reaching Ahnapee, he hired a horse, buckboard, and services of Fred Dammon. Getting cold, Flaherty was searching for his mittens while commanding Dammon to stop. He did not. Issuing the command a third time, Mr. Dammon began thinking Flaherty was hunting for his revolver and, in fright, jumped off the buckboard, hiding in the dark. Meanwhile the inebriated Flaherty  had the horse in the dark while Dammon had to walk through the dark and mud back to Ahnapee. The horse was returned the next day.

In January 1878, Sturgeon Bay Advocate withheld the name of a man who wanted to go to a ball in Foscoro. The unnamed borrowed the buckboard of one man, thills of another, and the horse of a third, and rigged a harness with pieces of rope and bits of strap. Then he found three girls and his one-eyed, bobtail dog. Pleasure, happiness, fun, defeat, and humiliation came next. He had too much benzine (which was sniffed to get high), and then wagged his tongue too much. If anybody knew how he lost his pants, the Advocate wasn’t telling. For a man with three young women on his arm, it was worse was when some other fellow took the girls home. Not even the dog stayed with him. As the Advocate said, he was trying to get through a knot hole to avoid being seen. Who would the Advocate not name?

Two months later, the Advocate might have told a different story, when it pointed out, tongue-in-cheek, the roads between Ahnapee and Foscoro were in “wonderful condition” with the mud being only 2’ deep. Was it the mud or something else that happened when the Record told readership in April that the telegraph line between Clay Banks and Foscoro broke in 2 or 3 places and wire was lying on the road. Poles were also down and on the ground, but there were those, including the Record, who wondered whose business was it to rebuilt it? Was the location of Foscoro still a mystery in 1878? Finally, two years later, in late April 1880, the Record said the telegraph office was re-established at Foscoro. Henry Overbeck at Ahnapee was the operator.

Foscoro School has been forgotten by following generations and is not included in the list of Kewaunee County schools. The school has provided its own stories.

According to the July 16, 1914, Record, a portion of the Towns of Clay Banks and Ahnapee was organized into a joint school district in 1874. Until February 1875 when the Enterprise reported that Foscoro schoolhouse had a fire, the school didn’t generate news. The fire was due to a damaged flue and damage was slight, however flames were difficult to extinguish. That paper reported in May 1878 that C.B. Post of Foscoro had the contract for a new 26’ x 36’ district schoolhouse, so perhaps the damage was more substantial than thought.

In February 1879, Foscoro school, with teacher Susie Seymour, closed because of diphtheria and other sickness. Fifteen months later, the Record said Foscoro school closed due to the illness of teacher Addie Morey. Order books and records dating to the earliest days of the Joint District were lost in a fire at Issac Orwell's house in 2882. Mr. Orwell was the district's clerk.

An August 1885 Advocate told readers Jessie Dreutzer was engaged to teach at Foscoro School for the fall and winter seasons which began on October 1. Florence Barrand was engaged as the teacher for Foscoro school in Joint District 1# said a late July 1888 Record. The eight-month term began on the first Monday of September. In earlier years there were winter and summer terms such as on April 27, 1882, when the Record said Foscoro school district would begin the summer term on Monday. On November 22, 1883, Miss Olive Foster began teaching the winter term at the school.

The Advocate thanked Clay Banks Town Clerk Nelson who presented the statement of taxation in the town’s school districts in January 1883. Joint District #1, Clay Banks and Ahnapee, was $2.03 on $100 valuation. District #1 was the least at $1.88 on $100 while District #2 was $2.93 on $100 valuation, which is a significant difference within the three districts.

It seems as if the joint district had so many teachers and sometimes two a year. Then in July 1892, the Advocate reported that Joint District #1 elected Foscoro resident Robert Johnson as clerk in place of Lars Knudson and engaged Clara Acker as the teacher. Clara was teaching during the winter term when the Christmas edition of the Record noted that she spent the holidays with her parents.

It seemed strange in January 1895 when the Advocate reported that Robert Johnson, L.J. Fellows and Henry Awe, the board members of Joint District #1 of Clay Banks and Ahnapee, had a treasury balance of $7.88. They did not vote funds for the following school year. They also voted that there would be no school held in the district for the ensuring term. The previous teacher was paid, on average, $28 per month. Why would there be no school? Was the District dealing with so much that board members just gave up?

About 6 weeks before the end of her contract, teacher Lizzie Madoche was discharged for alleged inability to maintain order and discipline. Clara Acker who served as teacher in 1892 was hired in Lizzie’s place, and it was Clara who was called as a witness when Lizzie sued for lost wages for the balance of the term. On August 2, the case came before Justice Dehos who ruled in favor of Madoche.

The District was back in court a few months later in November when on a Tuesday morning Judge Masse was hearing testimony in the action brought against Joint District #1, Robert Johnson, and Louis J. Fellows, two of the district officers. Some taxpayers petitioned for their removal. Among charges was neglecting to call a special meeting when legally requested to do so. It came about for “wrongfully and illegally discharging Miss Eliza Madosch (sic), a former teacher in the district.” That action involved the district in litigation resulting taxpayers “entailing thereof in heavy loss.” Y. V. Dreutzer represented the people while Johnson and Fellows handled their own affairs. After the hearing, an adjournment was taken for six days.

When Judge Masse opened court that Monday morning in December 1895, he dismissed the case against the school board members, saying he had no jurisdiction. It was shown that since only 17 of the 59 district electors signed the petition, prosecution evidence was weak. Johnson and Fellows claimed that the litigation to oust them came from a few malcontents in a scheme to break up the district. It was said the malcontents resided in another district but owned land in the Joint District. Since the whiners did not have children to send to school, they felt they should not have to pay taxes for educational purposes.

Though history suggests Foscoro School closed, it didn’t. In January 1898, the Advocate  told readers there was a change of teachers when Miss Samuelson decided to take charge of the one pupil school. The paper said she was an “earnest worker” and the best wishes of her “patrons” went with her.

In early September 1898, the  Record said Joint District #1 schoolhouse burned about 10 PM on Friday night in a fire of undetermined origin. The building remained property of Joint District #1, which was dissolved during the winter. The building was a total loss as there was no insurance on it or its contents. The question was, what caused the fire? The building was not open. The heating stove was not in use. There was no lightning. There was no reason for the fire.

The Advocate announced, in early March 1899, the construction of a new schoolhouse for Clay Banks’ first district located in the Vignes neighborhood. Vignes was the center of the district when Joint District #1 was consolidated with Clay Banks #1. Foscoro children went to Lakeview School.

The mill was gone, the school district was near its end, and the post office closed in 1900 due to lack of patronage. The post office would have been closed within the next few years as R.F.D. came into being in 1904. Foscoro slipped into the past.

When the Record chronicled  Issac Orell’s purchase of 40 acres from Mr. Fellows in May 1878, it mentioned that the land had a beautiful little lake of about 1 acre, the banks of which, when cleared, would be one of the finest building places in the county. The fire of 1871 was by then regarded as an advantage as the destruction of timber cleared land for farming.

The disappearance of the incredible beauty of Stony Creek was reproduced by the Advocate in April 1871 from an article appearing in the Enterprise saying that at Stony Creek, the site of the pier, was “invested with the halo of romance by Jeannie who writes for the Milwaukee News.” Jeannie said about ¼ mile north of the village plat the high bluff at the Lake recedes about 40-50 rods, turning into a gentle hill extending southeasterly about the same difference from the Lake and then back to the shore. Jeannie felt “within this amphitheater is the future, the sweetest village that the waves of Lake Michigan shall kiss.” She said the ground “descended softly to the lake” and water flowed in a way that she felt it was “the home of fairies.”

Amphitheater was the word used describing the” stream of rocks” from the creek to the lake when Rowe, Coe and Foster built the large sawmill, destroying the beautiful cedars and other trees suggesting monuments of a by-gone era into a place devoid of beauty or sense of poetry.

It was written in 1883 that, “Only a short distance from the mill, and connected with it by a wooden railroad, is a pier run out into the lake a thousand feet. How it mars the beauty of this fair nook! It is as some beautiful girl, with a mouth to excite an irresistible desire for a kiss, should all at once run out a tongue like an anteater.” By then Lake Michigan mariners failed to see the fairies but did see a dwelling-place of demons. Just outside of Foscoro lies a shoal which has been the cause of multiple shipwrecks.

It was also written that a brief time ago, Foscoro was the loveliest village on Lake Michigan, however “the loveliness of the place departed” causing one’s heart to swell with such grief that the penman “had to weep.”

Just north of Foscoro, Clay Banks' settlement , in he Town of Clay Banks, was a thriving pier community boasting the Eagle Hotel which had its own problems. On February 15, 1879, the Advocate reported reported more about those Scandinavians when it published the following: "We learn that at a dance at the Eagle Hotel in Clay Banks last Saturday night, a general engagement took place between the proprietor and some of the Norwegian population of the town. The Scandinavians say they wanted to dance and were nopt allowed to and the Hiott boys say they had to break up the dance. Mrs. Hitt said they were either dancing or fighting until 2:00 the next morning."

- - - - - - 

*What became Algoma in 1897 was called Ahnepee until 1873 when the spelling changed to Ahnapee.

**Foscoro is now called Stony/Stoney Creek,

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record Herald, Door County Advocate, Door County Expositor, Kewaunee Enterprise; 1876 Kewaunee County Plat Book; Here Comes the Mail: Post Offices of Kewaunee County http://genealogytrails.com>history1917_chapter47; https://www.geocaching.com/geocache/GC5RZMT 

Lest We Forget: Veterans’ Day 2023

Nineteen years ago, on Saturday November 11, eight or nine veterans working on a Green Bay Yacht Club project decided to have an impromptu flag raising and observance. The day mushroomed to what it is today feting hundreds of veterans from as far away as the U.P. Nineteen years ago there were those who served in World War ll. In today’s throng there was one. There were Korean vets, but not many. Most were Vietnam and the post-Nam men and women. The older folks didn’t escape their country’s call; they had little choice when they were drafted. Those serving in the last 50 years, when the draft ended, were volunteers and served because they did have a choice.

As the master of ceremonies eloquently pointed out, joining the military is giving the country a blank check for one’s life. It means acceptance of any duty at any location while knowing the blank check might be paid with death. Veterans date to the beginning of this country, and the millions of vets deserve far more than a trite “Thank you for your service” on this day while they are forgotten every other day. The Greatest Generation is passing away before us while those who served in the Vietnam era are still getting kicked in the teeth. Many who never served, and laughed at those who did, think it is just a job. But they really don’t think. How many were maimed for life? How many have Agent Orange blood borne diseases and other cancers? How many have lost arms, legs and eyes, or the ability to have children? How many have PTSD and deal with mental illness, or have such emotional issues that close relationships are all but impossible. Then there is homelessness. All is paid by that blank check.

While others begin careers, buy homes, and take cruises, the young people who were drafted and now volunteering put their lives on hold. Whether the men and women had/have stateside duties or were on foreign soil, lives were on hold. Speaker Lt. Col. Pruitt talked about a Marine standing on a wall when he was asked why he was standing there. The Marine replied that he was there so we could sleep without fear as evil wouldn’t strike while he was watching. Pruitt mentioned George Washington serving for 8 ½ years and in that time only spending 3 or so days at his home, Mt. Vernon. In the 200 years plus between George Washington and the Marine, much has changed, but service men and women have always been there keeping us safe.

Although President Calvin Coolidge was a man of few words, he had much to say on November 11, 1928, in a speech marking the 10^th anniversary of the Armistice. The address paid tribute to those who served and sacrificed in a time of war while he also discussed the cost of war to a people and a country.

Coolidge said, “Our first thought, then, is to acknowledge the obligation which the nation owes to those who served in our forces afloat and ashore………the place of honor will always be accorded to the men and the women who wore the uniform of our country – the living and the dead.”

Kewaunee County: It's Not Your Grandpa's Halloween

Halloween, witches, ghosts, and skeletons go together. But not all the time. While Kewaunee County history does not appear to support witches, there are stories of ghosts and the paranormal. Over the years, numerous skeletons have been found. Some were said to be Indian, and likely Potawatomie who inhabited the area before relocating, or being driven out. Some skeletons are felt to be those who were hastily buried in outbreaks of cholera and diphtheria. Others are mysteries.

One of those mysteries was reported in April 1906 when, on April 5, William Schmidt’s Town of Pierce barn was burned to the ground, but not much attention was paid to it. At first. As workmen cleared away debris, they found a male skeleton in the ruins. It was supposed the skeleton was that of a young man who had been released from the Green Bay reformatory. He was seen in Algoma the day prior to the fire and he was noticed him going south. It was supposed that tramps in the area were responsible for the fire and for the death of the man who was known to have money when he was in Algoma. Money was an incentive for such a crime and although County District Attorney ordered an inquest, it was not held.

Algoma’s Ben Boettcher brought the charred skull to Dr. Rice who said the remains were definitely human. Searching for further evidence, Boettcher and Mr. Schmidt found the rims of spectacles and some pant buttons.

Some felt the unknown man accidentally set fire to the barn in which he sought shelter and was unable to escape. Others felt it was the tramps prowling the area. Who knew?

Other skeletons were not the bones of John Brown, but rather those of Indian people from year earlier.

While street commissioner Marr and his crew were taking gravel from the city gravel pit in October 1904, they found numerous skeletons. Citizens brought lights and dug, finding what they felt were the remains of 7 people. Being in such poor state that they could not be removed, they were left undisturbed. Older folks believed that there was an old Indian burial ground in the vicinity and it was expected more skeletons would be unearthed.

As Louis Fellows was excavating a basement under his Fremont St. home in October 1926, he found human bones that were thought to be from the days the area was populated by Indians.

Men excavating at the Two Rivers Hamilton plant in April 1927 unearthed a rough box holding the skeleton of a man. Old settlers believed the man might have been a victim of cholera which was prevelent in the early 1850s. It was known that during the epidemic, bodies were buried in the area of the city where the box was found.

In January 1928, a skeleton was dug up at the north end of the government yards in Kewaunee. It was noticed as a skull protruded from a portion of an excavation which was caving in. Digging indicated the skeleton was in an upright position and was not dug up for fear of disturbing the remains. Being Indian bones, it was felt they were Potawatomie who had inhabited the area. History suggests the man might have died during an Indian battle known to have taken place on the site.

Finding a skeleton in the gravel shore near Two Creeks in June 1933 led to hopes that the disappearance of a Two Creeks man a year earlier would be solved. After investigation, the mystery remained when it was determined the skeleton was of that of an Indian felt to be buried in the sand for scores of years.

The same paper carried an article about a skeleton found at Frank Husnik’s gravel pit east of Ellisville although old settlers could not remember burials in the area. The body appeared to be buried without any protective clothing and was only a foot below the soil. Clarence Robillard took the skull and parts of the skeleton to Kewaunee for examination. The shape of the skull led to the belief that the person could have been an early type of human. After the bones were displayed at the Enterprise office, they were sent to a museum for analysis.

A few of the skeletons were found in October. Had there been more, it would have added to Halloween in Kewaunee County where much changed over 150 years.

Things were unusual in 1889 when Ahnapee girls devoted their time to playing practical jokes that did not cause harm, thus casting caution to the wind on the night when the Record said maidens walked downstairs backward with a mirror in front of them, or walked barefoot around the block while carrying a cabbage stalk. Say what? Folklore says that’s how one discovered the identity of a future husband. First it was seeing the man in the mirror and then face-to-face. Halloween seemed to be an unusual time to foretell a husband, but perhaps it was black magic.

Ten years later the Enterprise told readership to take care of  gates because the following Monday was Halloween, the evening when the boys turn everything upside down. Apparently the news was out that they were already making plans for their raids.

In 1899 Mrs. August Boedecker entertained the ladies in the parlors of Algoma Hotel on Halloween. The women enjoyed cards and games and sampled refreshments served on a table decorated in an "odd manner" and set in the sign of the cross. Guests were served by waiters dressed as ghosts. Most of the guests were married, but at least 2 of the 3 single women were teachers. Did they come as spinsters? The parlor mentioned was most certainly the “ladies parlor” where women could order whiskey or such beverages to enjoy with their cigars. It was a room for ladies only.

An Illinois appellate court had an impact on Halloween 1901 when it ruled that “the citizen is entitled to protection at the hands of the city.” The court ruled following the destruction of $900 worth of coal at Spring Valley in 1900. Taxpayer money was to be used for more stringent police surveillance on Halloween as damage or destruction caused by “Halloween hoodlums” would be paid for by government. In 2023 dollars, the coal would be worth about $34,000.

Nobody in Kewaunee forgot Halloween in 1903 as throughout the city young folks held “high revel” with the residential area experiencing most of it. Most pranks were harmless although the Enterprise there were many which should be punished. Even though extra police were out, they could not keep up with those who were out for “sport.”

Halloween – the night most dreaded by property owners - passed in such a manner in 1910 that the Record hoped the future would bring such occasions. Whether it was extra police or a lack of interest, Algoma was relatively unscathed. Soaped windows were the worst of it and although some sewer pipes were stung over sidewalks, nothing was vicious. Devilishness was always worst at the school, but, the Record with the swinging of the cop’s Billy club, the place looked like a Quaker meeting house. The city breathed a sigh of relief. 

But Kewaunee was not quite so lucky. The Record told readership that Kewaunee area resident Frank Peroutky was not forgotten when he was awakened by gunshots and ringing bells near his door. Lewis Johnstone didn't have much trouble as he was running for assembly and out being seen and pressing the flesh at the party at Schmitz’ hall.

Casco was looking at legal action in 1919 after a mob of about 75 men and boys almost turned the village upside down. They weren’t content with soaping windows, ringing bells, and destroying gates, but, the paper said, they overturned all small buildings in town, threw stones through windows and insulted townsfolk who attempted to stop the destruction. The worst of the vandalism was the burning of George King’s corn crop. The fire was put out, however the stacks and cobs were in such bad shape, they were useless for feeding. The paper admonished residents and said it was time for parents to watch their boys because if a boy was not home in the evening, what was he up to? What about the men?

Things changed in 1927 when Opera House manager, Charles Schneider, announced a free movie for Kewaunee children in an attempt to keep kids from the vandalism and lawlessness of previous Halloweens. Schneider said the children would be highly entertained, and asked parents to have their children at home immediately after. Both business and civic organizations worked together to provide an entertaining evening that did not include criminal activity.

Where once Halloween was a festival of the saints, the day became one that was lawless, destructive, and filled with crime. When the Kewaunee school system said it had a duty to train good citizens and promote a “sane” Halloween, it said all organizations could be of assistance. The school planned to have teachers emphasize the source of school monies, the good will of the community, respect for property and more.

During the 1930s, Kewaunee Postmaster Wright got to the office the day after Halloween and stopped dead in his tracks. Recent Halloweens had lent a false sense of security so when Wright looked up expecting to see a fluttering flag, he saw an old-fashioned chamber pot – a “pot de chambre” or “mug de toilette” in the place of Old Glory.

The Enterprise felt such sacrilege had to be a first in the U.S.  Chamber pots were like kids – neither to be seen nor heard – but there it was at the corner of Ellis and Main St. for all to see. The paper reported that Wright let out a roar that Uncle Sam, the Army, and the FBI would be called to find the guilty. He said nobody could “pull a potty” and get away with it. He was about to call the Coast Guard and the police when George Flaherty came into view.

In 1935, the Enterprise editor was waxing nostalgic with tongue-in-cheek when he said gone were the days when Trottman’s dray wagons could no longer put on residential porches, and there were no swinging gates with removable hinges that were easily removed. There were no wooden sidewalks pulled up and dumped on someone’s doorstep. And when horses disappeared from the scene, the horseshoe nails couldn’t be used to trick the innocent. Indoor bathrooms meant the one family two-holers were not places of dread on November 1.

J.H. Kampo, Enterprise manager, said there was no appeal for the days of yore when citizens spent two weeks in November trying to locate their chickens. No doubt the paper’s musings prompted the devious to plan future Halloweens. Citizens not only lost chickens, but their iron lawn deer and clotheslines also disappeared. One year, a 200’ rope was attached to the Congregational church bell and then the rope was pulled down the lake bank. The bell was rung by “remote control.” After the church was relocated, the bell ringing became a non-issue because the church no longer had a bell. Back in the day, culprits kept Chief of Police Orin Warner downtown while their “associates” climbed into the school belfry to ring out freedom across town.

The Enterprise saw Halloween as a national holiday and a national disaster which had gone away. The paper felt soap manufacturers and mask makers “so defiled the true pioneering spirit of American youth” that even a carved pumpkin has (in 1935) become obsolete. The paper went on to say that the old-fashioned Halloween was gone, and “we mourn its passing with cheers.”

By 1938, the Enterprise said the art of Halloweening was on the decline due to police presence and community parties that kept the young entertained. The Enterprise opined even the passing of the old three-holers changed things. Still, citizens remained nervous. remembering the days when boys put one of Butch Trottman’s wagons on top the light house at the end of the government pier. The prank kept government engineers busy for weeks wondering how it could have possibly been accomplished without a derrick. Then too, there was no commotion that would have brought attention.

Kewaunee’s Fine Arts Club enjoyed a hard time party in the school gym in 1944, playing games such as pin the tail on the black cat. The gym was decorated with pumpkins, corn stalks and more while Jane Swoboda pulled fortunes from an iron kettle hung over glowing embers. As guests were led through the chamber of horrors, they came upon the remains of Ichabod Crane while hearing the clanking of chains and groaning and moaning of ghosts. Doughnuts and coffee were served during the evening that ended with dancing games and music provided by such musicians as Earl Shane, Gordon Thoreson and more.

Who’d prank the police chief on Halloween? In 1945, somebody got Chief John Lischka when all 5 tires on his vehicle were punctured in Kewaunee. If the guilty was ever caught, he surely got the proverbial book thrown at him. Not good to go after a police chief.

When a “For Sale” sign on the courthouse in 1959 caused a little head-scratching, it turned out to be a Halloween prank that was far more mild than 50 years earlier. Schools also sported such signs.

Kodan’s history of Halloween mayhem is legendary, and the school was targeted in 1960 too, but it wasn’t the outhouse that was tipped that year. After the board played its own prank years earlier, out-house moving became a thing of the past!

School was cold when teacher Ruth Draves arrived that 1960 day. When she checked, she found the copper tubing on the fuel tank hanging below the spigot. Whether it was a  Halloween prank or whether somebody drained the oil was not immediately determined. Whoever did it pinched the cut end so that not all oil would drain. They also turned off the spigot. The school board and Sheriff Legois were called. When the kids got to school dressed in costume, they were not deprived of their party as Mrs. Draves rounded up enough electric heaters to keep the kids warm until the tubing was replaced.

For over 100 years there were pranks – many vicious. Then came trick or treating. Northeastern Wisconsin was tricked in 2023, but not by celebrating kids. It was the weather. Some areas only got an inch of snow, but those tricked the most got 4” of the white stuff. Kids wore warm clothing over costumes they planned for weeks. When kids knocked saying, “Trick or Treat,” it was Mrs. Santa greeting them with a “Merry Christmas.”

Sources: Kewaunee County newspapers

Kewaunee County's One-Armed Bandits and a 1940 Wedding Picture

 If You Must, Shoot Crap with Honest People, Forget Slot Machines. Such was the headline of an Algoma Record Herald article on November 17, 1949. Statisticians at the University of Wisconsin figured out that the one-armed bandit ate quarters while the player had a  seven to one chance of winning. The stats further showed that three machine jackpots occurred in every 8,000 plays.

Sometimes a small jackpot is as good as it gets, and it was good in September 1940. The 13^th and 14^th were days of the annual Door County Teacher’s Institute at Sturgeon Bay High School, although the teachers weren’t learning how to prepare their charges for sin and corruption.

East Maplewood’s primary teacher had been married three months earlier. Having been in Sturgeon Bay on Labor Day, she and the new groom spotted their wedding picture in the window of Rieboldt Studio on (what was) N. Cedar Street. The  photo was beautifully bordered by an ivory, mother-of-pearl, and silver frame, something far too expensive for the newly married couple.

On second meeting day, the young bride needed gas, which she purchased at Yahnke’s Wadham’s Filling Station at 4^th and Jefferson in Algoma. Like many other stations of the era, Yahnke’s had a one-armed bandit. Using the dime in change from her fill-up, the young woman impulsively put it into the slot machine. It paid! When she traveled to Sturgeon Bay for that second day, she used the noon break to dash to Rieboldt’s where she bought the exquisite picture. Telling the story in years to come, the aging bride said she had never done anything so foolish in her life. Ten cents was real money in the post-Depression/pre-war years. Eighty-three years later, that photo is every bit as beautiful as when it hung in the studio’s window.

Where did slot machines come from?

If the November 16, 1906, issue of Algoma Record Herald had it right, slot machines were invented by the Egyptians for use in Egyptian temples before the Christian era. That machine was “a covered stone vase for holy water. There was a slot in it and a five-drachm piece dropped into it caused the cover to slide back smoothly so the worshipper could take a little holy water, whereupon the cover moved back into its place.” The 1906 article said such perfect devices could be found in museums and English army officer, Col. Sandeman, gets credit for inventing a penny slot machine, but it was Percy Everett of New York who was the first to imagine the machine’s possibilities and begin marketing.

It didn’t take long for the machines to make the news.

In May 1913, clergy throughout Green Bay addressed the city’s moral conditions in their Sunday sermons. Church goers were urged to fight the evils which were a menace to the community’s youth by weeding out disreputable saloonkeepers, dance hall owners and promoters. It was noted that the mayor and council committees took away 11 licenses during the year. Control was necessary in River City!

The slot machines brought crime to Algoma in November 1923 when burglars broke a rear window to enter the Nesemann saloon at 2^nd and Navarino in Algoma. The perpetrator got a nickel slot machine owned by Charles Hopp of Kewaunee. Mr. Nesemann felt that about $15 was in the machine which was found in the pea canning factory and broken into pieces. Bars and beach stones were used to smash the machine to get at the nickels.

 It was reported in early December 1925 that the Casco barbershop was burglarized on the preceding Sunday night, a time when there was no money in the cash register. The only thing missing was the slot machine. The burglar broke a rear window for entry.

Forst Hall in Tisch Mills saw one of the boldest robberies in the area during early September 1926. When lights went out at midnight (because it was time to go home), robbers helped themselves to $60 or more from the cash register and a 25-cent slot machine before the dance crowd knew what was happening. Change on the bar was also scooped up to produce more than 100 bucks in the heist.

Authorities said two men were seen running from the hall to a waiting car. It was felt three or more men were in the gang as the slot machine was large and heavy. The robbery appeared to be well planned and timed because the robbers were at the cash register and had removed the slot machine within a minute of the lights going out.

In late July 1929, a few months before “The Crash,” Algoma’s Henry Muench foiled a robbery at Schmitty’s Inn on west side of town when he heard the robbers and shouted. The thieves were attempting to carry off a slot machine, cartons of cigarettes, and two pistols taken from a punch board. Running, they dropped the slot and cigarettes and one of the pistols was found near the Wenniger home. Authorities thought they had information, however the “culprits” left the city.

 Algoma barber Otto Krohn found a dime slot machine and several cartons of cigarettes were stolen when his shop was entered on Sunday night in July 1931. The machine was found in the rear of the Dug-Out the following noon by janitor Frank Prokash. Though the machine was broken and coined were gone, the thieves missed 40 cents.

Once again thieves broke a rear window to enter Harold Jenquin’s place in Brussels for the second time in three months. Cigars and cigarettes were stolen in August 1933, however in November, the crooks carried off a radio tube tester, a slot machine, and more cigarettes.

Joseph Wagner, a 24 year old Green Bay man, was released by Kewaunee County authorities in 1933 under a $2,000 bond furnished by his father. He was arrested at his Preble home after his license number was noticed when his auto was parked at Jule Dalebroux’ Thiry Daems softdrink parlor which was enter the night a slot machine and other items were stolen.

Wagner’s back cushion and part of the front seat were removed from the 1932 Chevrolet coach to make space for three slot machines and a cigar box holding about $25 of nickels and dimes. A 32-calibre fully loaded revolver was found under the hood. The machines were stolen from Dalebroux, George Hruska in Alaska, and Tony Worachek in Slovan. Entry at Alaska and Slovan was gained by crashing the front door, possibly with the iron jimmy he was carrying.

Authorities had been watching for the suspected Mr. Wagner for months. He refused to speak about the robberies though said if he wanted to do so, he could give the names of 20 others. Because of similarities, Wagner was suspected in several other roadhouse robberies such as Rubens at Rosiere where a coin operated music box was lifted. Other slot machines were found at Wagner’s residence and it was reported that he was wanted for pulling similar jobs in Manitowoc (where his father lived), Sheboygan, and Door Counties.

Wagner’s new car indicated he was making money. The young man operated his own roadhouse near the Hagemeister Brewery on Manitowoc Rd. in the Town of Preble, now in the City of Green Bay. Getting many of his products “free” was guaranteed to boost his income. Since two of the slot machines had the serial numbers filed off, authorities were sure they were among the ill-gotten loot.

Slot machines were on the minds of many in December 1937 when Wisconsin Attorney General Loomis came up with a new plan for ridding cities and villages of the nefarious games. It was simple: call them gambling machines. Proof had to be offered under state anti-gambling laws, although under the new ruling, a municipality could ban the machines by ordinance.

County District Attorney  Bruemmer  was criticized by A.J. Murphy in a letter to the editor of Algoma Record Herald, published on June 22, 1934. In his letter, Murphy said his criticism was Bruemmer’s indifference to the gambling influences and slot machines in Kewaunee County. Bruemmer had suggested to Murphy that since he knew where the office was, he should come in to sign complaints.

Murphy claimed to have no issue with isolated incidents, but strongly suggested the D.A. should do his duty - his responsibility to keep “racketeers and vice-rings” out of the county. He said citizens should not have to sign complaints when the D.A. was being paid to uphold the law and prosecute. Murphy said if Bruemmer was afraid of prosecuting because he’d lose popularity, his failures were not enhancing his reputation and that he was losing prestige by his “dictatorial manner and methods.” People were said to be “fed up” with the “arrogant attitude on the part of a public servant.”

Murphy concluded his letter asking, “What is the answer” if Mr. Bruemmer refuses to act? He went on to say, “In the words of ‘Roundy,’ I say, ‘Write your own ticket’.”

What did that mean? Murphy was referring to Roundy Coughlin, the popular Wisconsin State Journal sports’ writer who wrote in what some called stream-of-consciousness style. Wikipedia gives this as one of Roundy’s comments: “A lot of times slot machines spit and you get some money, but the parking meters just say so long sucker.”

By February 1942, Kewaunee County which ranked 54^th in population of Wisconsin’s (then) 71 counties, gained statewide publicity when the internal revenue collector in Milwaukee said it ranked 5^th in slot machines and pin ball devices that paid off. The county had 236 machines thus 1 for every 71 residents compared to the state average of 1 for every 561 residents. Kewaunee County’s per capita figure was about 8 times greater than the state average. One state paper said the six people paying the 100-dollar tax were all named Worachek – Albert, Anton, Edward, Gilbert, James, and Robert. Wisconsin took in 5,588 separate tax payments although it was felt more than 5,000 people were illegally operating more than 11,000 slots.

It was the first time such information became public due to the new $50 federal tax. Prosecutors believed recording names of the operators would make prosecution less difficult and that prompted going forward with immediate action.

By September, the big news from the new District Attorney A.G. Murphy’s office was that slot machines would be cleaned up. Murphy couldn’t understand why Kewaunee County was being picked on by Wisconsin Attorney General John E. Martin. At that point, Murphy who had criticized his predecessor, didn’t think slots were a problem and had received no complaints. The slots in the county were owned by private individuals, not by a syndicate. Kewaunee County did not have organized crime and racketeering, although in 1934 Murphy was sure the slots would lead it.

Martin said a group of Kewaunee County residents came to him in Madison informing him of the slots which were found in drug stores and ice cream parlors. Martin ordered the machines out, however he did not threaten to send state men to see to it.

Martin said Murphy pleaded for a letter from the state ordering the slots’ removal. Then the Record Hearld asked readership for opinions because the entire matter needed to be cleared up. The paper thought the official vagueness of responsibility was as bad as the slot machine racket itself – and the paper did think it was a racket. However, Kewaunee County owners and operators were quite frank in telling folks the machines were set for suckers. Maybe that’s why county residents were tolerant for so long.

The paper opined removal was what most citizens wanted, but it also said slots would probably be back. Illegal to be sure, the paper felt law enforcement would look the other way as it was to their advantage, and the state wasn’t serious enough to police the entire county.

The one place that didn’t get “all het up” about the slots was the Village of Luxemburg which hadn’t permitted the machines for years. Luxemburg did permit pin ball machines which were said to be a game of skill, but now that was coming to an end too.

Uncle Sam would be the loser said the Record. For its size, Kewaunee County paid more slot machine taxes than any Wisconsin county, and Wisconsin stood high in such taxes throughout the country. Editor Heidmann felt Uncle Sam didn’t have to worry yet because taxes were paid up to June 30 and a lot could happen before taxes came around again.

A month later, District Attorney Murphy’s bill including the expense of a trip to Madison relative to the slot machine situation was “laid over for investigation by the board.” The nature of the discussion between Murphy and state A.G. John Martin was not divulged, however it was felt the return of slot machines had significance in the meeting. As Yogi Bera would say years later, “It ain’t over till it’s over.”

Following orders from Gov. Goodland in August 1943, slot machines were ordered out of Kewaunee County taverns and public places by District Attorney W.A. Cowell and Sheriff Will Brusky. Six machine operators had recently paid the $100 federal tax on each machine. Madison said there were 130 such machines in the county. Did any survive?

This picture - taken in the early 1940s - appeared in the July 12,1972, Record Herald with a caption saying, “SLOT MACHINE CLEANUP” was the information noted on the envelope containing this negative from which the picture was reproduced. The two men in the foreground are Dist. Att. A.G. Murphy and Sheriff Thomas O’Konski.

The following May, some thought slot machines were an ancient issue in Wisconsin public affairs but hearings continued. While prohibited, they existed. A few weeks earlier, in April, two sheriffs – Clark and St. Croix Counties – were in trouble because they refused to get the slots out of their jurisdictions. The sheriff of St. Croix County said he knew of the operations, but the county’s public opinion approved them. During the three days of testimony, it came out that several municipalities in St. Croix County were collecting revenue through either assessments or through “donations” from their owners.

Gov. Walter Goodland forced the slot machine issue in February 1945. By 1 vote, the judiciary committee recommended passage of the Thompson bill driving gambling, including slots, from Wisconsin. The state senate took note of rumors suggesting slot machine interests were collecting money to fight anti-slot legislation. The senate directed the attorney general to investigate such rumors while religious denominations were generous in their support to aid the governor in stamping out the offensive machines.

The legislators’ most important work was seen as the measure to prohibit gambling in Wisconsin and to make slot machines illegal. The proposed law would give state treasury beverage tax agents the power to revoke liquor permits of those who owned or operated the machines.

The anti-gambling bill stalled a month later and was waiting for an opinion from the state attorney general. One suggestion – coming around again - was putting the issue to referendum. Senator Harold Lytie of Green Bay proposed amending the constitution to make licensed gambling possible, thus eliminating law violations and tax enforcement.

In mid-August state officers noted that first prosecutions of tavernkeepers under the new slot machine law were conspicuously unsuccessful.

So, what happened next?

Slot machines had a long history in Wisconsin. Popular during Prohibition, they remained until after World War ll when they were outlawed due to fears about organized crime. Everybody heard about Al Capone and his ilk. Commercial gambling in the state today is illegal with few exceptions. State law forbade gambling from the beginning, however, since there is Tribal sovereignty, casinos are legal.

It was in 1989 when Wisconsin legalized raffles and dog racing. in 1991, a court ruling paved the way for legalized Indian gaming.

Who could believe the source of o young bride’s money to buy a treasured wedding picture was a controversial issue that divided Wisconsin and beyond for years? Surely not that bride!

 

Sources: Algoma Record Herald; Wikipedia; https://www.lb7.uscourts.gov.documents

 

 

Kewaunee County History, Ahnapee/Algoma, and Patriotism

 

This is the 4^th of July. It is fireworks, flags, parades, concerts, hamburgers, hotdogs, baseball and apple pie, although fireworks are in jeopardy this year. Much of the country is affected by drought, and fire is a danger if something goes awry. Some places have cancelled their fireworks saying if debris falls into water, it adds to pollution.

Fourth of July once meant a display of patriotism. On July 4, 1776, the Second Continental Congress declared the American colonies’ independence from Great Britain. On its first-year anniversary in 1777, Philadelphia celebrated with bonfires, candles in windows and fireworks on a jubilant day. Until more recently, the feelings of patriotism ran high and the 4^th was more than a day off the job site.

The Wall Street Journal – April 4, 2003 – carried a poll indicating a steep decline in the importance of patriotism, down from 70% in 1998 to 38% in April.

Author Stephen Nathanson’s 1993 book on patriotism, morality, and peace says patriotism consists of affection for one’s country, defining oneself through the country, being interested in its welfare, and sacrificing for the sake of the country’s welfare.

A Gallup poll surveyed patriotism in the country and found Montana was #1 as the most prideful state, however Virginia had the most American pride. That seems like a head-scratcher. Gallup Poll found Gallup, New Mexico, to be the nations’ most patriotic city. (The city of Gallup was named for David Gallup and early railroad paymaster. The city is not connected to the famous pollster George Gallup.)

What happened? New York Times columnist David Brooks penned an opinion, “The Necessity of Patriotism (Even in Times Like These)” on March 30, 2023. The entire column can be found online. Brooks concludes his column with his fears that we are so distrusting of institutions and those around us that we do not reach out and thus dysfunction continues. Brooks cites the Wall Street Journal poll by saying people told pollsters that patriotism, parenthood, and community are not very important.

Wolf River, which became Ahnepee/Ahnapee/Algoma, remembered its very first 4^th, July 4, 1851. It was not your grandpa’s 4^th. The settling families arrived in what is now Algoma during that week – the Tweedales and Hughes on June 28, followed by the younger Warner family on July 4. The community was Kewaunee County’s first permanent settlement, except that it was in Door County at the time. Kewaunee was set apart from Door the following spring.

The Warners never forgot what happened as Pa Orin Warner steered his boat into the river that 1851 day. The entrance depth was about 2’ and when Orin guided his sailboat in, it capsized, sending the family and their possessions and provisions into the water. Harriet was 9 and later told how her mother, Jane, wept bitterly. Everybody was ok – little George Washington was only 3 – and they collected their belongings which were dried out. Imagine Jane’s terror. Nobody saw the accident. They were in a wilderness and who was there to help? At the time, the river was a bit over a block north of where it is today. The U.S. Engineers straightened the river and dredging continued on and off for the next 170 years.

Life went on, the community and county grew, and subsequent 4^th of Julys were different. When the Civil War started, immigrants and those born in the country alike volunteered or were drafted and served. Most of Kewaunee County’s population were immigrants and perhaps thought the fight did not concern them. They went forward. It is well documented that new Belgian immigrants got shafted while the prominent stayed home, but that is another story.

When, in 1873, there was a newspaper in Ahnapee, events were chronicled and encouraged. There were a few in town who felt they were above the German immigrants, for instance, and had their own balls and celebrations. Such animosity was noticeable for years before feelings of camaraderie spread and folks made trips to Sturgeon Bay, Kewaunee, Casco and even Manitowoc to take part in activities. Roads were so primitive that for years it was the Goodrich Line, or sometimes Hart, ferries that took folks and bands up and down the lakeshore. Traveling to Rio Creek and Casco were overland trips, and not easy. Fifty years later transportation had changed and Algoma’s Delores Marr won the Manitowoc derby race. She was one of two girl riders in the seven-entry race.

Each year brought something special. Kewaunee fire company held a grand picnic and ball with the Bohemian Turners as part of the celebration in 1878. Sullivan’s woods near Maplewood was the location of a 4^th of July 1882 picnic with proceeds going to the area Catholic church. All were invited to what was promised to be a good time. Clay Banks completed plans for their 1882 grand celebration and took in $70 for the purchase of fireworks. That 70 bucks would be around $2500 today. In 1892 Kewaunee’s glorious celebration began with a grand parade followed by three bands at New Riverside Park.

Although each year was marked with some type of patriotic celebration, 1880 saw the biggest changes and events in Kewaunee County’s first 50 years.

1880 marked the 104^th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence and Ahnapee residents were planning for the grandest 4^th ever. Nealy all city businessmen and prominent citizens requested Mayor Perry to call a public meeting for the planning.

The feeling was that enough money could be raised by soliciting subscriptions and petitioning the city council* to make an appropriation. The committee pointed out that it was the “duty of every citizen” to aid in raising money. No single individual would derive benefits, but the entire city would. It was pointed out that businessmen would indeed make money but they were also making larger contributions. Everybody was expected to give according to their means, and everybody would benefit.

Each person was encouraged to “speak, utter, talk, articulate, pronounce, converse, say, tell, recite and relate” views on the subject to ensure a public demonstration, “the grandeur of which can only be imagined and not described.” William Bastar wanted to see that happen and had a large gang working on his new building which he planned to have ready for a 4^th of July dance in his upper hall.

 Where there had been cultural animosity, the committee encouraged German citizens to arrange for speakers in that language because the foreign-born populace was important. Plans included singing, reading the Declaration of Independence, and a brass band while the committee looked for speakers outside the city.

In 1882, the Record cautioned against the sale of toy pistols which were big on the 4^th. The paper called the pistols an “instrument of death” which was addressed by Wisconsin law that said the sale, use, or possession of a toy pistol or revolver was unlawful. A conviction meant up to 6 months in jail, a $100 fine, or both. Who knows if the law had teeth? Wisconsin has fireworks laws 141 years later.

By 1885, John McDonald’s Third Street roller rink was nearing completion, and McDonald planned a good time on July 3 and 4. The paper editorialized that McDonald did so much for citizens that Council should give him a vote of thanks rather than charging him for his license. The idea didn’t fly.

1894 saw activities throughout the area. Roads were no longer the primitive paths of 20 years earlier and folks traveled to entertainments. Henry Sibilsky extended an invitation to a picnic and dance at his Mill Street hall. Admission to the dance was 25 cents. The Forestville William Duwe Camp Son’s of Veterans held a dance and picnic at Stokes* in Nasewaupee. Dance tickets were 25 cents for the affair that was expected to attract a large attendance. John Blahnik’s grove in Kodan was also holding a picnic with music by the Arion Band. It was said Mr. Blahnik would spare no pains to make the occasion pleasant. Joseph Prokash made dance  arrangements at his Prokash Hall in the Town of Ahnapee while Rudolph Bruemmer was advertising a picnic and dance at his place on the Green Bay Rd. (now Fremont St. at Bruemmerville.)

George Bottlok & Bro. had a grand celebration at his Bottkolville/Euren hall in 1896. That same year, F. Kwapil & Son was ready for the “glorious approaching 4^th””  taking orders for oranges, bananas, lemons, peanuts, coconuts, peaches and other fruits not grown in the area. Kwapil guaranteed favorable prices. The Temple of Honor celebrated at their 4^th and Fremont grounds, which were “handsomely fitten (sic) up for the occasion.”

The observance of Independence and the 50^th anniversary of Wisconsin’s admittance to the Union took place in 1898. The Record did not mention Kewaunee County’s 46^th anniversary weeks earlier when it said Algoma didn’t need an excuse to celebrate.

In early June 1899, the paper called attention to the 4^th of July saying, in effect, that the citizenery should get on the ball. The paper encouraged folks to hustle to plan a big day so that people could stay in town for a good time. Algoma residents were in Sturgeon Bay for their celebration that year. For those who missed it, Algoma Press told readership that Frank Columb of Sturgeon Bay was struck in the face by a piece of plug tobacco box under which a large cannon cracker exploded. Columb was severely injured at that celebration. The following year Algoma had a similar event.

Herman Haucke and Frank Damas were known to have devil-may-care attitudes. Grandma’s Cousin Herman did much for the community but was known to tip a glass or two, which might explain things. At the 1890 celebration, the men were to set off a firing salute, which happened prematurely. It made news because one of them – it is unclear which – had gunpowder in his pocket. The man’s clothing was burned as was his face. A subsequent paper carried an article about Herman setting off a cannon with the cigar in his mouth. It further said if townsfolk saw Herman with a sling on his head, they’d know why.

Who knows how many mishaps the 4^th brought, but in 1905 the Kodan correspondent to the paper said the town was surprised that there were no serious accidents that year, saying it was unusual.

Patriotism was high in 1900. Civil War vets were dying and the Sons of Veterans were taking their places. The Spanish American War era was over and technology was mind-boggling: telephone instruments, electric lighting, roads, and the talk of the cock-eyed like horseless carriages and flying machines. The railroad offered trips to Green Bay in hours, rather than at least 2 days by horse and buggy.

In 1907 Rio Creek’s Record correspondent said the 4^th was a rather dead affair in the village because the majority of residents either went to festivities at Casco or Bruemmerville. Casco’s George Blaha, proprietor of Casco Park, planned for a “dawn-to-dawn” rousing 4^th at his popular resort. Blaha planned games and races for prizes, evening fireworks, and good dancing music throughout the day. The railroad offered excursion rates from Algoma, Kewaunee, Sturgeon Bay, and intermediate points. Both the Ahnapee and Western and the Green Bay and Western offered excursion rates to Sturgeon Bay, Algoma, Kewaunee, and intermediate points through July 8^th , prompting Blaha to say, “Casco is the only place in this vicinity that will celebrate the 4^th and nothing but the 4^th.”

But it was Algoma that the Record was certain folks could not afford to miss. The city’s most attractive feature would be the airship flight. Who could even imagine such a thing? There would be street bands performing all day, a circus parade in which anyone with a costume might win a prize, and a baseball game with Peshtigo in the afternoon. Folks could cool off during a hose fight with 8 members of the fire department. Honors went to the one who stayed on his feet the longest time in the greased pole contest while catching the greased pig made everybody laugh. Horse races were on tap and there was loose and tight wire walking. Everything that citizens could wish for culminated with the biggest fireworks display in the evening.

When a June 1880 Record encouraged every man, woman and child assist the cause of the 4^th, it encouraged the decoration of every home with garlands, flags, and banners. The paper said everybody in the country should wake up and display their patriotism. It said American people were born in France, Germany, England and everywhere else, however it mattered not and that patriotism “demands that it should be rescued from the oblivion into which it is being allowed to fall by the indifference and the ingratitude of the American people.” It happened that Judge Boalt was one of the speakers that year. He seemed to be pointing out that those with less than he, financially and intellectually, should not infringe on those such as himself. He railed against the ignorant accepting communism and religious fanaticism that appeared to be directed at Catholics. While papers praised the industrious Germans, Boalt complained about them and other immigrants. There were those who said celebrations were “humbug” and controlled by “damn Yankees.”

One hundred forty-three years later, David Brooks ended his New York Times column saying, “Only love and a leap of faith can break through distrust. That is why a credible form of patriotism is so important right now. We’ve hit that spot in the cycle of crisis and renewal at which people have to take the kind of common actions that send the vital message: we can trust each other.”

Notes:

*Ahnepee became the Village of Ahnapee in 1873, and the City of Ahnapee in 1879. July 4^th, 1880, marked the first celebration as a city.

*Stokes - today Highway 42/57 and Door County Highway O.

Notes:

*Ahnepee became the Village of Ahnapee in 1873, and the City of Ahnapee in 1879. July 4^th, 1880, marked the first celebration as a city.

*Stokes - today Highway 42/57 and Door County Highway O.

 Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Press, Algoma Record, An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River? c. 2002,

 Online: David Brooks, New York Times, March 30, 2023, “The Necessity of Patriotism (Even in Times Like These)”.

Stephen Nathanson, Patriotism, Morality and Peace, 1993, Rowan & Littlefield Publishers 

Wall Street Journal – April 4, 2003

https://news.gallup.com/poll/394202/record-low-extremely-proud-american.aspx

https://news.gallup.com/poll/507980/extreme-pride-american-remains-near-record-low.aspx

https://www.wsj.com/articles/americans-pull-back-from-values-that-once-defined-u-s-wsj-norc-poll-finds-df8534cd

  

Kewaunee County's Milkweed Pods: 1944 and World War ll

 

Milkweed Floss

It’s summer, and as fast as it goes in Wisconsin, it means it will not be long before milkweeds are growing along the by-ways and in fields. On clear fall days, we’ll see pods splitting and the floss, or silk, drifting in the breeze. Despite the plant’s name, milkweed is far from a nuisance. The plant that attracts monarch butterflies, bees, and other pollinators also provides food for immigrating birds and overwintering birds. But there is more.

Although few are aware of it, milkweed plants saved lives, and Wisconsin’s kids played a huge role in the lifesaving. It was during the depths of World War ll – 1944 - that Uncle Sam asked the nation’s children to collect 1 ½ million pounds of milkweed floss to replace kapok. What’s Kapok?

Kapok was the waterproof filling used in life jackets when Pearl Harbor was bombed. Java’s Kapok was the United States’ best source, however when Japan captured South Pacific Islands, Kapok was impossible to get. Milkweed – found throughout Wisconsin – was discovered to have about the same flotation ratio and suddenly what was once a pesky weed became a treasure. Milkweed floss turned out to be vital as it was the only buoyant substitute for Kapok, and it was found to be even better. 

In August 1944, the Door County Advocate was on the bandwagon touting the potential value of milkweed seed in exterior paints, enamels, and baked finishes. It was thought new uses for waste products of floss collection would encourage permanent milkweed cultivation after the war. So valuable in preventing soil erosion, the hardy plant required little attention after the first year. Optimum collection was when the pods were turning brown, the stage that made the best floss. The remainder of the versatile plant had other purposes. Oil and rosin came from the pods, and livestock could eat the residue.

As it was, milkweed floss had been used for making pillows and, in 1944, a 50-year-old milkweed floss pillow was on display at a Petoskey, Michigan, floss processing plant, the plant to which collected floss was sent a few months later. War Hemp Industries, Inc., Petosky, Michigan, was the agent for Commodity Credit Corp. of the U.S. Department of Agriculture, or the WHI, CCC, and USDA  as the alphabet soup of the era referred to such agencies.

With that, the lowly milkweed plant earned a place in the war effort when Algoma Record Herald, in 1944, reported the War Food Administration (WFA) asked for the  collection of at least 1,500,000 pounds of milkweed floss to fill urgent war needs. Since time was of the essence, it did not permit developing such seed crops while the wild plants were just about all over. Commodity Credit Corp. said highway rights-of-way were one of the largest potential production areas. Prohibiting mowing of rights-of-way until pods were harvested in 1944 was a boon to floss collection.

The WFA said milkweed was easily controlled in pastures, though mostly found in roadsides, and advised farmers not to cut patches of milkweed. Kewaunee County Road Commissioner Griese sent out the information to county roadmen. No mowing. The highway department and county agent’s office cooperated in the effort to collect, cure, and dispose of milkweed pods.

Sturgeon Bay Advocate reported in July 1944 that life jackets would be provided for armed service members while getting rid of obnoxious weeds at the same time, although milkweeds were far from obnoxious that summer. Door County’s plans included listing patches of milkweed so volunteer groups could be assigned to pick at the right time. Those aware of milkweed patches were asked to call County Agent Mullendore’s office, the county home agent, school superintendent or conservation chairman.

Wisconsin’s milkweed goal was 300,000 pounds according to H.W. MacKenzie, former director of Wisconsin Conservation Department. MacKenzie immediately mobilized school children and others to collect the floss sorely needed for airmen and sailors. Kewaunee County’s milkweed collection was organized by County Agent V.W. Peroutky. Assisting Agent Peroutky were the Mrs. Nona Bartel, May Smithwick, and Florence Bodwin, Herman Griese, Eugene Nemetz, and George Gregor. The committee felt that many patches would not be reached until the groups were given adequate collection bags. In September, Kewaunee Enterprise told readers that government officials claimed over two million kids were mobilized to collect milkweed seed pods for Navy life jackets and other purposes.

Just after school started in September, the Advocate published the Door County’s goal - a bag of milkweed for each man in service. Merchandise prizes were to be offered for the best individual and group records, and in December it was announced that East Maplewood school was doing its share in winning the war when it collected 244 bags of milkweed pods. Astounding was that Harold Fortemps collected 204 of the bags by himself.

5/25/1945 - Record Herald

At the September 1944 Kewaunee County teachers’ institute, Eugene Nemetz, the county farm labor assistant, hosted a milkweed collection discussion. Materials were distributed and teachers received their bags. A few days later, the Record Herald told readership that county schools would be out picking in full force, although 4-H clubs, and church and civic groups were encouraged to help. The paper again pointed out that instructions came from County Agent Peroutky who said pickers needed to pick up sacks.

Across Wisconsin, local authorities, county war boards, county agents, and others oversaw supplying information and distributing the clean, dry, mesh onion bags, which were also available at school offices.

It was suggested pods be picked in pails or baskets and then dumped into the mesh onion bags. Each picker was requested to hang his sack over a wire fence for about 3 weeks for drying. Although pods in burlap sacks were known to mold, even rain did not affect those in onion sacks. It was stressed that collectors should not use closed containers.

The one-bushel mesh onion sacks held about one bushel of pods, which meant 50-pound onion sacks held about 800 green pods. County Agent Peroutky said plants averaged between 2 and 3 pods each although some had up to 15. They were found in fertile, moist areas and were to be picked when pods were mostly brown.

School children were encouraged to pick milkweed pods as it was a “real war job” that would help their older siblings who were serving in the military. The WFA said the kids would be the chief collectors of the floss used in manufacturing “Mae West” life jackets. Wikipedia says the vests were called Mae Wests  because those wearing them appeared to be large buxom women, and actress Mae West was the most popular. Just how did the FWA explain that to grade school kids?

Payment was 20 cents per full bag. Bags of green pods brought 15 cents. Teachers were asked to keep records for payment that was far from simple. Union State Bank of Kewaunee was in receipt of funds from the War Food Administration. The bank paid for the work through the county agent’s office, which paid the children via the teacher. Children were encouraged to use their money to buy more war savings stamps or add their earnings to the school funds. Non-students were paid directly and could accept payment or donate it to the school fund. The website retirementsimulation.com says that 20 cents in 1944 has the same purchasing power as $3.41 cents in 2023, thus one who picked several bags of pods might have been supporting the war effort while saving money for a special purpose. 

The Enterprise pointed out that rural grade and high school students did most of the milkweed seed pod collecting. Kewaunee County had 2,300 sacks to fill and each two sacks held enough floss to fill a life jacket. That prompted a Record Herald headline screaming,  “County Filling Many Life Jackets; More Milkweed Than Anticipated.”

Some Kewaunee County schools filled over 100 sacks when the county reached a peak of 3,300 onion sacks. At least 400 more sacks were asked to be delivered. With a shortage of onion sacks, Wisconsin turned to flour sacks and burlap bags, however care had to be exercised to make sure air circulated efficiently to prevent mold. Moldy pods were worthless.

Kewaunee and Door Counties, and all of Wisconsin, gave generous support to the milkweed drive, however it seemed as if the State of Wisconsin was overwhelmed by the all-out effort that came about. Michigan had ideal soil and climate so it was thought that state would outdo Wisconsin. It did.

When Ag Agent Peroutky reported to the Kewaunee County Board in December, he included milkweed statistics  just as he did dairy, cropping, farm institutes and more. Door County Board was also given a milkweed pod collection in annual report of Agricultural County Agent.

In November, the Record Herald  gave a shout-out and tip-of-the-hat to the kids when it said it was primarily rural, graded, and parochial schools that collected 2,100 bags  with an average of 800 pods a sack, which made 1,050 life jackets. Agent Peroutky said if 1,050 life jackets could save that many lives, the children had shown what their patriotism and all-out effort meant. Twenty cents a sack did not reflect labor costs, but it did reflect cooperation.

Red River Township’s San Sauveur school kids collected 40 bags, however the highest-ranking number of sacks per student was 5.5 at Red River Graded. Ryan school had 5.4 with 4.7 at Hawthorn. Sandy Bay, Garfield, LaFollette, St. Paul’s Lutheran at Ellisville, Jefferson, Luxemburg Graded, and Phillips stood at 2.5.  Peroutky said the heaviest pod yields were in the towns of Red River, Luxemburg, and Montpelier, though medium in Carlton, Lincoln, Casco, Franklin, and Pierce. There was not much in Ahnapee which, Peroutky said, was not a milkweed production township.

Sacks were collected on Monday October 30 via county highway dump trucks, overseen by the rural, graded, high and parochial schools. Families with sacks were to have them at the schools by 8 AM. If seeds were in burlap bags, the onion sacks would be available for transfer, and families were asked to turn in any unused bag. Peroutky said seeds had to fit comfortably in the bag. Crowding would cause shriveling. 

Kewaunee Enterprise reported Wisconsin’s children gathered 350,000 bags of milkweed to rank second in the nation. Door and Kewaunee Counties shipped five carloads to the Michigan processing plant while Shawano County was Wisconsin’s 1^st place county with 35,000 bags. Peroutky pointed out counties collecting more than Kewaunee were far larger, while proudly saying Wisconsin’s boys and girls gathered 350,000 bags of milkweed to rank so highly and do so much for the war effort.

All that milkweed pod picking meant clothing stains. Edna Baumann, assistant state 4-H leader, said to remove fresh milkweed stains, the garment had to be soaked for 2 or 3 hours in cool water, rubbing frequently to loosen the stain, followed by laundering. Gummy residue could be removed with carbon tetrachloride cleaner. If the brown stains set in, the item was to be soaked in cool water before applying glycerin, acetic acid or strong vinegar, and bleaching agents. Acids and bleach affected color so testing the garment was a necessity. Milkweed stains are nearly invisible at first but if not removed, they turn rusty or light brown in time, or with ironing heat or alkali soap, and are then difficult to remove.

In August 1945, it was reported that there would be no milkweed collection because of the amount collected in 1944 and the recapture of islands held by the Japanese. Supplies of life jacket material was meeting needs, and the war was coming to an end.

A little over two years later, it seemed as if the milkweed collection program was coming full circle on the peninsula with the appointment of Charles F. Swingle PhD as research horticulturist at what is now the Peninsula Experiment Station. Dr. Swingle’s extensive professional work history earned an earlier appointment as assistant director of the milkweed life jacket project at Petosky, Michigan, although Dr. Swingle’s Door County work would focus on fruits. Swingle had a tie to Door County and knew something about it as Dr. Ben Birdsall of East Maplewood was in charge of the Peruvian station where Swingle worked for the U.S. Dept. of Agriculture teaching farming methods. Dr. Birdsall attended East Maplewood school years earlier and it was at East Maplewood school where Harold Fortemps single-handedly collected the whopping 204 bags of pods.

How many World War ll airmen and sailors owed their lives to roadside weeds?

Sources: Algoma Record Herald, Kewaunee Enterprise, Oconto Falls Herald, Wikipedia, www.retirementsimulation.com; Picture from https://gracegritsgarden.com/2020/10/milkweed-world-war-ii.html